


Cerasus Flores

by pandasnleopards



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Astronomy, Bars and Pubs, Doomed Relationship, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, Drug Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Smut, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay, How Do I Tag, Inspired by Music, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Latin, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Manipulation, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Smut, POV First Person, POV GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), POV Third Person, Pining, Poetry, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Smut, Speakeasies, Stargazing, Stars, Strangers to Lovers, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Swearing, Trees
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29177517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandasnleopards/pseuds/pandasnleopards
Summary: Dowsed in water, George's prevailing fire raged.Joy was what he felt, pure, virgin joy.No underlying doubt, no questions, no bothersome worries. He chuckles until his voice gives out without a care in the world.He felt alive again, just for a split second.////George, a speakeasy pianist,  is sick of the monotony of life so he decides to visit the park yet again, hopefully being the very last time. A deadly encounter results in him meeting a secretive man, Dream. He'll take any opportunity at an unfamiliar change of pace and Dream makes him feel different, so he picks him to be his new pet project; although it led to something he could've never predicted.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Floris | Fundy, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Niki | Nihachu
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. ~Prologue~

**Author's Note:**

> I'll add TW/CW warnings at the start of every chapter. I'm gonna make each chapter at least 1,500 words and update whenever I finish a chapter. I will add a song at possibly every start of the chapter reflecting the tone of the chapter to get you in the right vibe ykwm. Please, please I beg you to listen to the song before you read it, just the first 30 seconds at least. 
> 
> I'm @alluchep on Twitter, follow, thanks. Any different languages used in the story, I've used google translate, unless it's Spanish.  
> Listen to 'Find A Little Light (Day Six)'- Will Samson fo this chapter's song. wc 829. TW/CW: suicidal themes, mentions of self-harm.
> 
> Enjoy.

I have this dream of a tree. More of a metaphorical tree, like the concept of time. There'd be these branches of all these different possibilities, poking out into the night sky.

There's this one branch of life; where I don't have this hunger, and where _this_ , everything is enough. Where you are enough and life's stupid predictable randomness is enough and this cycle of distraction is enough.

A world where I don't see events and people as aberrations anymore, a world where I slip into bliss and simply don't care, a world where I don't think, I _just be_ happy.

Conventional, perfect happy with the white picket fence or glass sliding door, or lonely summers in jazz bars or playing with future children, pale reflections of what I used to be but better, purer.

And it's enough, I'm full. I'd never feel null.

I keep thinking of this branch and it feels like an empty weight.

A boulder on my back at all times but, I know, it's just a branch and I know that there are thousands more and I know that some, if not all, may lead to awful cruel events but I keep thinking.

It's okay because I won't feel nothing, because I will be full, just a little delayed; be it perfect happiness or the complete opposite.

But I know, that's wishful thinking.

I try to stop spiralling down and I focus on this fictional tree and the real night sky.

The blanket of stars oscillates slightly, seemingly unnoticeable if you're not looking hard enough; they mix and fold into paradigms within themselves, one could spend hours spotting the decorative motifs; although I could detect the constellations, the sparkling orbs don't seem to pique my interest that much.

Time moves leisurely, tired wind dancing through my chocolate hair.

I imagine wet grass between my toes, green blades staining skin. I reach for the tree, coarse bark grabs my hand. Scratching my fingernail down the ageing divets, flaking under my cruel touch.

The breeze picks up, howling white noise into my ears and violently ruffling the branches I can't bear to look at, and still, have yet to officially identify. Though I can make a fair assumption.

Until, a single petal falls from it's clustered family, cascading down the sweet air; particles cradling the sacred, blush stalk. I finally look up to trace its tracks with my eyes as it nears my lids; ready to rest on the bridge of my nose.

I slow down.

I close my lids to catch its feather-light embrace.

Then open my eyes.

And I realize that I'm distracting myself with a stupid repetitive dream of a tree.

It is the only thing that gives me some sort of resemblance to comfort nowadays. It pulls me back from my void of branches, possibilities, white picket fences, and a person who does not exist. It's my anchor, primarily consisting of my paranoia and overwhelming doubt.

It keeps me on the ledge, always ending up retreating, throwing my legs over the sculpted railing and landing hard on the cobble path, away from the danger on the other side. Some days I'm thankful, it keeps me at bay, it keeps me breathing.

Other days, it starts a series of events that inevitably ends up with my own blood on my hands.

The embarrassing hold a tree has over me.

Yet somehow I'm still _here._

I've thought about my tree, _for hours_. By now I'd be home, bustling on my ancient PC that's on its last legs at this point and sinking my teeth into the colourful distraction on my screen.

But today, it's different.

Swinging my legs over the edge of Jubilee Park, my small feet encased in loose ivory converse. I sit nestled in the crook of the sculpted, stone bannister. Both hands on either side of me holding an unreliable grip.

Looking down, tiny remnants of speeding cars only able to be made out because of the blobs of blinding light, ruining the carefully designed mood-lighting of the manmade deck that towered over the same roads.

The wrap-around sidewalk - a ways beneath me - used to be paved with porcelain marble, the stains from previous visitors were a fuss to clean so they interchanged it with spackled, black tiles.

At least they were self-aware enough of the park's taboo activities then completely ignoring it. Usually, the roads were empty, no-one wanted to see what happened here, but construction diverted traffic, keeping drivers on their toes, shutting eyes at the slightest sign of movement.

I'm all too familiar with Jubilee Park.

Breeze envelopes my crimson skirt, curling under its force. Instinctively, I release one of my hands from its measly hold and pat the skirt down twixt my thighs, off my blue jumper.

Immediately resulting in me losing my bearings; testing my centre of gravity, I shift from my already blood-curdling position into an even more horrifying one.

Ready to slip and fall.


	2. Life After Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George has an incredibly dangerous encounter and recounts a past memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to the song 'The gilded hand'- Radical facer b4 reading pwease. TC/CW: suicidal themes
> 
> George is colourblind in this story, one of my biggest pet peeves in DNFs are when authors write from George's pov saying things like 'I see the brown plate, even though I know it's red' like no that's not how it works, what he sees as green isn't what you perceive as green, obviously, but he can't tell the difference cause he's never seen what you perceive as green.  
> wc 1723

When I was born, my mother planted a tree in our yard. Not 'the' day I was born but close enough so that it would grow with me. My parents respected symmetry, the rising and setting of nature, the never-ending circle.

My grandmother did the same for my mother it was only right that the same opportunity would be granted for me.

I remember the day when my grandmother died, my mother felt like she lost everything.

Grabbing the axe in the garage and dragging it to her respective blossom tree. Those trees were a part of my soul and any kid with misplaced priorities would've done the same as me. Never pegged myself as a treehugger, but it did the job.

Her dilated pupils were exchanged with a vacant stare, she dropped the hefty weight on the grass and buried her knees in the dirt. I shuddered away as she pressed her nails into my limp arms.

"I'm sorry, this tree is for you to cut down when it's my time. Not me." She apologized.

And I did cut it down, years later when mine had already matured. The roseate petals tumble down from the rattling wind, with crashing thumps. I'll remember that sound. I stood there expectantly, waiting for some sort of catharsis I guess as the brush settled and wood chips crushed under my weight.

I understand why her first thought was to hack the old thing, it was mine too; like somehow she knew years before that this would be the thing that fixed me.

 _I would complete the circle_ , but instead, I felt nothing.

What a way to spit in her face.

[3rd person]

He let himself dwindle off the edge, teasing himself before rutting out a sad chuckle and grasping his previous risky hold.

What started as a few dismal giggles, erupted into a giant fit of laughter, burrowing sound into the drilling silence of the park, the only noise other than the near-dry fountain laying level to him a few dozen feet away, grass wrapping the floor. Tears threatening to fall.

'That was close' he thought.

'The closest-'

'-and it was an accident' The mere speculation testing his sanity.

Did an accident caused by a faint breeze really push himself into doing something his conscious mind, at times, drunk mind couldn't possess the courage to do?

He laid down on the wire and let his thoughts badger him to death.

'Coward'

Muscles relaxing.

'Fucking coward'

Throat clenching

His peach lips slacken - now hypnotised - unknowingly pressing the tip of his shoe on the back of the other. He kept the pressure until the fabric gave out, revealing his heel to the gelid touch of the air. He balances the weight with his toes, falling helplessly deep in his trance, not being able to fend off the tears any longer.

"Can't ev-." He manages to whimper between the choking of tears and knots in his throat.

What felt like centuries pass, as he straightens his legs this time with full intent, not accidental. Terrorizing the shoe over the steep drop and face running hot from the lava-like saltwater and air blowing up his skirt and shivers running down his neck and flowing to his tailbone and his body lethargic and a heartbeat faster than light and leaning his weight forward for the world to claim him and noises of calm footsteps nearing and hushing of oblivious breath and the rummaging of unfamiliar clothes scraping skin. Echoing, gaining distance.

Quickly closing his eyes and starting to giving in.

"WHAT ARE YOU DO-"

The sudden loud noise, sending a jolt of shockwaves down his body, bull dowsing his senses.

Adrenaline rushing into his blood, picking flight over fight, immediately letting go as the reaction and bolting forward, starting to fall whilst yelling a sonorous screech of pure fear with only a teaspoon of relief.

A split second of ecstasy. Real unmitigated peace. Suspended in time, seemingly, in space as well. Feeling only the twinge of air surrounding every side of his being and hearing the thrashing of pebbles.

Fingertips, hands, arms, warmth, body.

Body.

Strong arms valiantly slip him out of his daze, coiling themselves around the slender boy's chest in intense pressure and speed. He lifted his body with all the power he could muster, heaving him well over the bannister and little bit more to ensure safety.

Laboured breathing riding them down from their anxious high (hehe), the smaller latches on to the nearest limb being the figure's broad shoulders. Their chests rise and fall in a synchronised rhythm.

They finally caught each other's gaze, still completely silent from the shock of the events before. The smaller began to register the near-death experience, bright yellow-green orbs staring back. Ambient lighting coats the blonde's face in flattery, them able to feel each other's hot breath.

They stood there, in each other's unsettling clutch, a stranger had just saved his life.

Minutes pass, the taller finally decides to pull the saggy body off the railing in full, a firm grip still spreading across the older's chest whilst he gathers his footing on the rubble.

Facing each other, the blonde gawks at the honey-suckle eyes, his expression washing over with a look of guilt. Caressing the read neck of the scared boy, unknowingly calming each other down; the height difference was extremely apparent.

"I'm sorry." The taller mumbles, swiftly letting go and shuffling away.

The dim flame in the nameless boy grew. Someone saved him. The taller man hadn't realized that 'it' would've happened despite his presence.

The mystery man felt responsible. The older was intrigued, to say the least.

He replied without a seconds thought.

"You almost kill somebody and all you can come up with is I'm sorry?"

The accented yell reverberates in the empty park as he smirks at his cleverly thought out response. He guessed the blonde would become defensive at his teasing, after all, it wasn't his fault. Instead, he twists his feet under the green grass that he migrated to and yelled an even stronger-

"I'm so sorry!"

A slight crack in his tone voicing his sincerity. Successfully melting the brunette's heart, instantly regretting his hostile toying. He wanted to know more, the timber flourishing the embers within him at an astonishing rate, being barren for so long, he needed to know more.

Curiosity filling him up to the brim, pointing him towards the flustered man in front of him. His sorrowful look making him look so susceptible.

"What's your name?" The equally nameless stranger questions.

Speedily, the expression of guilt changes to confusion.

"You're a stranger." The blonde shoots back.

"Ok?" The brunette's accent seeps through his word.

"Ok?" The other manages the raise his pitch, even more, diverging from his usual deep tone.

"Listen...man-" The blonde continues.

'George, call me George' the older thought.

"I...am really sorry... for startling you, but you're a stranger and I'm not g- I'm just gonna go."

The blonde murmurs, George steps forward in an attempt to calm him down only causing the taller to flinch back. Earning a hurt quizzical look from the older.

"Wha- do you think I'm gonna hurt you?" George bellows to only be met with an empty set of eyes.

"Says the 6-foot giant!" George almost screams. Eyeing him from the shoes to his eyes.

Blondie was sporting a green-yellow hoodie, it was bright in George's sight. Graphic, layered text presenting the colourful word 'dream' in 60's font; strewn beside the word, a sadly drawn smiley face in what appears to be black permanent marker.

Hands pocketed in his dark blue jeans, loose-fitting on what George presumes as muscular legs. George took in his appearance missing no spot in his intense staring contest with the other's form.

His field of vision lands on his chin, his voice was silky, almost sultry; only a few octaves lower than George's.

'He's hot.' George reflects, mouth open a little.

Only then did George realise the decent amount of time had passed, shifting his glare to the green eyes. Instantaneously, a scarlet blush formed on the smaller's cheeks.

The blonde had also been eating him up with his eyes. The saviour had been focusing rather intently at George's 'unusual' attire.

Besides being able to tell the ogling was in a positive 'wow' nature; he, yet again, decides to pull on the loose string taunting him from the sweater.

"Like what you see?" George teases.

This time returning the baton to the younger, as the blood rushes to his sun-kissed skin on his cheeks from the comment, immediately looking away in embarrassment. George relishes in his reaction as the man curled on himself like a turtle.

"Alright, leaving." The foreigner dead-pans, beginning to briskly walk away.

'Ok, he doesn't like being played with' George wonders, making a mental note but the feedback he got from his little phrase sent so many flutters free in within him; he might disregard this information in the future. 

George racks his mind faster than the Flash himself. (My name is Barry Allen and I'm the-)

Apparently, fate was on his side more than once tonight.

'Click' The first warning of the built-in system beams in the distance. Acquiring only a second's glance from the tall alluring man, who continued to saunter on the emerald grass.

George's unnecessary, vast knowledge of Jubilee park finally coming in clutch.

Swiftly, he dashes towards the younger with an eager speed. 'Click' 'click'. The cogs in the blonde's head start visibly turning as he notices the loud noises and also the brunette running in his direction, ready to football tackle him.

Instead, to his confusion, George only wraps his pale fingers around his thick wrist, yanking effectively. Though the brunette manages to pluck him from where he was rooted in tumult, he was much, much stronger than George.

Unfortunately, causing George's soul to leave his body when the momentum in his body was too high to stop because of the unmoving arm that wouldn't budge.

George's neck craned his distance as he gracefully fidgeted the wrist in his hand with a look of urgency as if he knew something the other didn't.

'CLICK' 'CH-CH-CH-'

Then, realisation finally struck the viridian-eyed man like a lighting bolt.


	3. Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George and the other find solace in each other's presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for chapter 'Technicolour Beat'- Oh Wonder
> 
> The story is gonna speed up from this point forward, I just wanted to outline the first impressions clearly instead of doing the whole 'he was drawn to him' love at first sight kinda thing you'd expect at a start of a DNF.

_'Close your eyes, count to one, that's how long forever feels'_

Unfortunately, it was too late.

With a loud 'CHING', the metallic components of the sprinkler system scrape against each other, triggering the powerful streams of cold water erupting throughout the entire park.

George has been to the park so many times, he memorized the watering schedule like the back of his hand; of course, he didn't expect to still be here when the grass would be soaked for nourishment but he'll dwell on the annoying miscalculation another time.

The gushes of water start spurting in the two's direction. George considers letting go of his grasp and bolting to safety, that was until the taller instinctively intertwines his coarse fingers with the ones around his wrist and starts to sprint to the sidewalk.

The Blonde had brought his body flush to the other, whipping a hand behind the other's neck and George accepts gracefully as he buries his head in his chest, using him as a human shield.

The protective nature of the mystery man _cultivates the flickering fire in his heart again._

His hand's were big in George's, almost insultingly, though he didn't mind.

It was no use, their scurrying, roaming hands and commendable speed didn't help because, by the time they were halfway across the vast emerald foliage, the sprinklers had stopped by themselves.

Oblivious to the havoc they caused, they latched back into hibernation, waiting for their next time allotment.

Leaving George and mystery man utterly soaked.

They rip off each other, flicking their limbs like wet dogs. Blonde curls weigh down from the water and glue to the taller's forehead, his hoodie is visibly heavy and the pen-marked smiley begins to bleed into an ominous frown.

George shivers from the aching cold, his skirt dumping drops of water even after he tried to ring it out. After tending for themselves for a few split seconds, both eye their bodies assessing the damage before making it to each other's eyes. Staring at each other's pursed lips for way too long.

Surprisingly, the blonde was the first to break.

"PFFFFF HAAAHAA-." The younger bursts out into deathly contagious laughter.

Spit spraying everywhere, his mouth was gaping as he grasps his stomach to support the immense sound he let out, wheezing like a tea kettle. 

His laughter wraps George in such a warm glow, he forgot he was freezing his ass off, soaking wet on a windy night. Hastily, George slaps his hand on his mouth, heating up from his red cheeks as he couldn't help but double back over, detonating in equally ecstatic laughter.

They laugh and laugh, George quickly caught wind of the younger's peculiar laughter, making him cackle even harder if that was even possible, reaching his hand out to the other's hip in support and snorting from the lack of oxygen. 

The other frankly didn't have the strength to hold his body up, he rocks onto his knees, swiping up the hand from George and crying from the other's feminine giggles. He playfully yanks the innocent hand, resulting in both of them falling back-first into the mushy marshland.

Dowsed in water, _George's prevailing fire raged_. 

Joy was what he felt, pure, virgin joy. 

No underlying doubt, no questions, no bothersome worries. He chuckles until his voice gives out without a care in the world.

He felt alive again, just for a split second.

They lay on the grass, shoulders touching when the laughter dies down into ever longing sighs.

They lay for minutes on end, quiet in thought.

After a while, George sways his head to the side to see the other's sharp knife-like jaw tilting to the sky. The moonlight bathes his pretty freckles in a way that George could only describe as 'angelic'. 

He traces the blonde's field of vision, leading to the boundless night sky his eyes are locked on, reflecting iridescent light back onto his irises. What were previous boring patterns of glowing dots above George now turns into an open book he couldn't wait to read to the other. 

The corners of his lips upturn as he internally 'awes' at the other's bewildered fascination about something George didn't think that much of.

"The twins..."

George quickly blurts as he examines the sky with purpose.

He lends a helping hand, right after brushing the soft, damp curls off his pale skin. Stretching his arm over the space between them. Blondie didn't even move, he just carefully shifts his sight to track the movements of the smaller boy's finger. Drawing on top of the constellation, he continued.

"Gemini, the constellation."

He waves his hand in an explanatory gesture, fully encapsulating the other's attention since he alters his position on the grass into a more closer one. Leaving George's angeled head practically lying on his shoulder. 

George wants to stay in this moment forever and never leave, he wasn't cooped up in his mind, he was out, interacting with life and it felt exhilarating. He latches on to that feeling for dear life and _gladly poured gasoline on the ravaging fire that spread to his fingertips and skin._

And so he went on, listing the variants in the sky, _the embers metastasising to his throat._ Fondling the air whilst the other watched in awe. Suddenly, there were hundreds of patterns he wanted to point out and the blonde laid and took in every ounce of detail.

He poked and prodded the gas-giants millions of light-years away, his skin crisp from the heat every time the mystery man hummed in the agreement or 'wowed' in disbelief. After a while, he ran out of starlight facts and explanations. 

Fully knowing the consequence from the action, fully aware of what was happening inside of him, _to_ him; _he graciously threw himself at the stake._

Spinning his head to meet the other's face after the winded talk that left his voice hoarse.

There, the same face he had already seen, lays. The same viridian eyes struck with wonder. The same flush cheeks that sang with fluttering colours, and a smile that could end wars.

And with that sight, _George burns alive._

He accepts the engulfing flames like an old friend, this fire, this excitement. Someone new, bare and untouched; it all took the wind out of George and he simply let it.

\-------

Moments of comfortable silence pass, George tries to the pick up the remnants of his being, this feeling was different, it wasn't null and it wasn't void. _It wasn't_ _heavenly_ , but anything different to him nowadays felt like a godsend. 

Attempting to organize his mind whilst staring at the other shamelessly. So he watches as the blonde's god-like, astonished face moulds into a neutral, attentive one.

"I could've killed you."

He squeaks, gaze still lured to the black beyond.

He was so sincere, he was so real, he genuinely cares about this random person on a bridge that would've died despite his unknowing mistake. How could someone care so profoundly without any history or backstory? 

George obviously left an impression since his mindful look transitions into a gloomy one. 

He was so easy to read. 

The smaller simply chalks it up to the fact that he 'liked stars', 'yeah that's why' he nods to himself. 

His earlier decision was to use the naive guilt in the other to coax more information out of him, make this high last longer. Now, every atom in his body wants to shake the sorry out of the other and hug him death, whispering reassuring, sweet-nothingness in his pink ears. 

George settles on neither.

"I forgive you." 

He manages to weasel out from his poor, recked voice.

And there he goes again, shooting that million-dollar smile at the unassuming brunette. George could only hope that he too was basking in him, the way he is in the blonde. 

This phrase eases his pain gently, he loosens his tense muscles and murderous grip of the grass. Including his fingertips that the dug into the dirt anxiously. He whips his head to face George's.

"What is _your_ name?" He gritted through his shit-eating grin.

"I thought I was a stranger? Pick a side blondie"

George sarcastically jokes, twisting his chin to the tall street lamps glowing a soft orange on the distant side-walk.

"Blondie? Ewww! No!"

"Would you prefer 'killer'?"

This visibly struck a nerve in the younger but he plays it off at super-human speed when he gasps in fake hurt, slapping his hand on his chest dramatically.

"Okay, 404."

He points out the white lettering overlaid on a red box on George's blue jumper, inducing a string of giggles from him that brightens the taller's smile even more.

"I like that." George sighs.

"404...4-0-4" The blonde hums the words, testing the noises on his tongue.

George wants to hear those vowels on loop forever.

"For me, not blondie, makes me sound like a dick." He continues.

Setting George on a manhunt (du du du du) for a better nickname, until a light bulb springs through his eyes. 

He raises his hands in the air and waves them in a mystical-magician fashion as he presents the new name on an imaginary platter.

_"Dream."_

George sparkles through his teeth, now sitting up, wet clothes still pruning his skin. The other's eyes darting to his own clothes, specifically his hoodie, spackled with the same text.

He took the nickname for a test drive, whirring to himself. Now also sitting up and looking down at George in amazement, enveloping him in ecstasy.

"I like that."

 _Dream_ mocks with a hilariously terrible British accent. They smile at each other, cheeks red like roses, they didn't care, they weren't shameless, they were happy or at least George was.

He wants to drown in the way he felt. He wants to drown in the other man like a drug. So he rummages through his head for a way for this night to last longer, and consequently his high to last longer.

"There's a plaza a decent walk from here..." 

George pauses to catch Dream's attention.

"-and I know a place, really cheap stuff, called Melanie's. My friend works there, and we can get dry clothes...if you want, if you're free." 

George questions longingly at the Dream.

He thinks to himself for a moment, before replying cautiously.

"I'm free."


	4. Red Velvet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pair try to keep the night alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny Thing- Thundercat (aka if Karl Jacobs was a song)
> 
> TW/CW: suicidal themes (barely- only at the end) wc 2006
> 
> I'm seriously regretting not using 'city of stars' from la-la land as the song for the last chapter, I mean it was right there T-T. I need enemies to lovers reccs.

The ethereal night felt like they were plucked straight out of a movie.

George and _Dream_ had set on their journey to the plaza, they helped each other off the clammy grass, removing their soaked hoodies as they only weighed them down.

Sauntering out on to the sidewalk that they never managed to make to. Brushing skin against each other every now and then, electrifying their nerves. The conversation moves delicately, they handled it with care, scared they'd say the wrong thing and turn the pretty moment in a negative direction.

They each took turns robbing stolen glances, Dream asked how George knew so much of constellations, George took pleasure in explaining the breath-taking view from his childhood bedroom. 

A sudden spike of confidence leading him to say that they should visit the enormous field behind his house, just for star-gazing purposes obviously. Each basking in the other's beauty, 

George asked what Dream does for work, his demeanour shifted. George could tell he was lying when he said he works at a gaming store, he didn't mind; they did just meet afterall, he'd tell him the truth when he wanted. 

They made their way back to society, more and more people glanced at them with confused and sometimes disgusted eye contact at the pair. George just shimmied his hips, fluttering his skirt, in response as the PG substitution for flipping them off.

They eventually reached their destination, the plaza alluding a charming aesthetic. The ambient fairy-lights emanate a soft tangerine glow that sparkles off George's eyes, in a way _Dream_ could only describe as _'angelic'._

They converse and giggle and joke as if they've known each other for years; past soulmates that reunite for one last dawn, they can't leave a word unsaid, a stone unturned. The dinging of the store front's opening door being the only chance for them to stop discussing and take a much-needed lap of oxygen.

Dream watches an unknown lady's eyes turn to pure gold as she spots 404, scooping him up in a loving embrace. _'_

 _Was she his girlfriend?'_ Dream wonders.

"YOU'RE HEEREEE!!"

She yells, on her tip-toes to reach the already short man's shoulders. The woman had bright pink, short hair that reminded Dream of saturated cotton candy. After an eternity of nuzzling, she finally let go whilst pushing the bridge of her round glasses up her nose, she glitters a warm and welcoming aura.

"It's been so long G-"

"-AAaAAa."

George screams out of nowhere dragging the vowels out in emphasis, covering her words in noise successfully. She shot him a quizzical look before he points towards the god-like man standing beside him with his eyes, Dream absent-mindedly studying the cottage-core interior design of 'Melanie's'. 

Only to turn just in time to spot her holding a blinding smirk, nudging 404 closer to the mystery man. 

George internally screamed, she didn't fully understand the explanation for not saying his name but she wasn't dense, she could tell the taller was inspecting the pair from his spot across the store, checking him out. George scrambles to rescue the situation that was sinking faster then the titanic.

"Niki, this is my friend. Friend, Niki" George gestures in embarrassment.

Like the gentlemen, he is, Dream sleekly struts over and offers a welcoming hand to shake her's. George watches as she melts from his cancer-curing grin.

"We came since-"

"Sprinklers, Blood Fountain Park, wet clothes, cheap replacements. Am I right?" 

The bold woman cuts-off Dream and guesses swiftly, leaving him in awe and even managing to get George to raise his brow in surprise.

"Spot on." George commends.

She paints a warm smile that almost challenges Dream's as she grabs the two's wrists, leading them to the other corner of the lovely store.

"I'll give you a discount since you're a friend of........my friend I guess." 

Niki continues, leaving them be, alone in the back.

After shooting each other an excited stare, they both broke the glance to gawk at the racks of clothes ahead of them, a vast selection.

An indecisive amount of time ticks away, they change and try on hundreds of shirts and bottoms, shoes and hats. Giving a little fashion show to the other as they waddle out of the changing stall striking a pose in an effort to get the other to laugh. 

Dream settles on a pair of black combat boots, ripped charcoal jeans that cuff at the ankle and a lime green sweater. George had convinced him to add a silver chain on his belt loops to finish his, in his words, _'e-boy_ ' look. 

George elects a baby-blue pleated skirt, black converse style shoes, plus a notch-collar silky white shirt that Dream had helped him tuck in because _'he wasn't doing it right'_. They scanned and paid for their choices and changed back into them, George whipping out his phone immediately to grab a picture of the other and himself in the large mirror without Dream noticing. 

Making their way out of the store whilst waving their last goodbyes to Niki, George manages to catch the time.

"1 am! Jesus! How is it still open?"

"I think we spent 3 hours there..." Dream snickers, rubbing his nose cutely.

"Worth it," George responds confidently.

They both paused at the entrance of the plaza, a mutual feeling that was eating away at them that they both want to keep feeding. They want to keep the night alive.

"Do you work near here?" Dream questions, eyes locked on his fidgeting feet.

"Yeah....." George starts.

"-It's definitely still open, wanna pay a visit?"

Dream's head shot up quickly, nodding like an eager golden retriever. Prickly blush cut through George's cheeks as he grabs the younger's large wrist, Dream nonchalantly weaves his tan fingers between George's porcelain ones. 

404 bursts into a decent jog, curling through other store fonts, underneath staircases that seemingly came out of nowhere. Dream couldn't even tell if they were still in the plaza by the time they made their 7th turn.

Finally, George slows down, squeezing the taller's hand gently in enthusiasm as they carefully divert to the final set of steps that go underneath the ground. There it was, a velvet door with gold designs, above it, a neon sign that sparkles in the twilight.

"Occultatum?" 

Dream reads back as he butchers the pronunciation awfully.

"Latin is beautiful, the fact that it's a dead language makes it better, more unknown meanings that some have the luck of finding out, and or others just gloss over."

George passionately rants about the sign, it's reflection simmers through his chocolate eyes one could admire for hours without getting bored. At last, he turns to look at Dream who's breath unintentionally hitched.

"It means _'hidden'._ " 404 clarifies.

Dream can't help but love it when he rants or explains, it could be anything, though he enjoyed his honey-dipped words about stars the most since he loved space ever since he was a kid. His voice has such an alluring trance to it, carefully swatting away the black clouds above the taller's head that darkened his thoughts.

After George finally ends his long string of praises for languages, the empty silence was broken by Dream's signature wheeze. Yet again, George realises he'd been talking to a brick wall and tries to contain his giggles like a dam in a reservoir.

From what George so far analysed and inferred of Dream, he was a basic guy, cautious but takes the simplest of pleasures out of small events. Definitely not strong-minded, he can be convinced quiet easily, a jump off a bridge if you asked him to kinda guy. 

The most enticing trait was his giant heart; he was so sweet, apologising at minuscule inconveniences like bumping into a stranger on the commute here even though it was him who got rammed through.

George knew everything he needed to know; he, however, was a very self-assured person, the only thing he could ever rely on was his own mind and his incredible talent in reading others like an ancient scroll. His over-confidence could be chalked up to the fact that he was never wrong.

From what he picked up on, Dream reacted more positively when George was cutesy, giggling, wiggling his hips, generally affectionate actions. 

So George became cutesy, adjusted his conversation topics, his walk and voice to appeal correctly and he did so gladly. He would do anything for Dream to smile at him, to engulf him in his warmth that George so yearned for, for so long as well.

They walk in the door of George's workplace, hand-in-hand.

Dream's jaw drops. There in front of him, the elegant interior of red velvet speakeasy-style lounge. The walls are papered in the rose coloured fabric and black leather, lined with marble ornaments. 

Rolling his eyes from one part to the next, soaking it in; the ceiling houses gorgeous art-nouveau paintings, as well as a dazzling chandler that pulls the large room together. Reflecting different shades of colour that Dream didn't know existed.

George didn't think much of it, even the first time he visited for his shift, but Dream's expression was like he had brought him to heaven. In the middle, above the chandelier, a mighty chrome, grand piano lays. Catching Dream's curiosity like a slippery fish. 

George waves to the bartender who was serving the few people who sat at their gold booths, yanking his hold on the younger towards the large array of bottles stacked in cubbies against the towering walls. George pulls a decorated glass from the behind the counter and twists around seamlessly to grab a glass flask with rich brown liquid inside which Dream immediately recognises as scotch.

He pours a generous amount for himself and grabs another and leans his wrist over to Dream, waiting for him to a list an alcohol variant.

"Whiskey, double." 

Dream picks his poison as he stands in front of the bar watching lovingly as George gets to work.

George carries the glasses over to the piano in the middle of the room as the smell of costly booze makes it's way to Dream's nose. The faint clinking of glasses and lofi-beats from the hidden speakers fill the classy silence.

George sets them down on coasters carefully as he takes a seat on the piano's bench and Dream positions himself to lean over the expensive instrument and sips his drink.

George used to work at a much less nice bar, he only favours working as a bartender because of the new interesting people who spill their life stories fueled by liquid courage. Tiny periods of much-needed distraction, much needed high he couldn't get from anything else. 

But even those stories became boring after time, predictable. Break-ups, celebrations, stress, he was sick of it and shortly quit and found this diamond in the field of coal; _'occultatum'_ the Latin name is what drew him in.

He too started to dig into his drink, ghosting the keys of the piano in thought whilst Dream leaned over in anticipation. After an eternity of shuffling music options in his head, George finally pressed on a single key, gaining the attention of the few people in the speakeasy and the golden one of Dream's. 

Gracefully, he glides on the keys forming a beautiful tune, the veins in his small hands pop from the stress.

Sending Dream deep into thought, spiralling about the events that led him to this amazing moment. He let the song guide him back through his memories like a curator.

Blood fountain park, a place he would frequent often, Dream knows why people go there...but he loves the view.

A Man on the ledge. 

Sitting so _stupidly_ , so _dangerously_. 

The sight struck such fear in him, he reacted instinct. He yelled. The man on the bannister swung his legs.

The song the pretty boy was playing enhancing his memories ten-fold.

Was he leaning forward?

He didn't even give himself a chance to re-think.

"What were you doing at Blood Fountain park?"


	5. Equinox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George goes on a manhunt (hehe)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to 'Midnight Love- Girl in Red'
> 
> TW/CW: None
> 
> To clarify, no one in this story is an influencer (including side characters). Dream and George have the same ages as irl but sapnap is aged up to match George's age, 24. WC 1851. Pls comment I'm desperately lonely.

It was a sight to behold.

There the bubbly, eccentric boy stopped dead in his tracks like a deer in headlights- _'no'_ Dream thought, _'not like a deer in headlights, they would have at least an ounce of emotion in their face'_. 

George had dead-panned, abruptly cutting off the gorgeous tune he was playing with a look that could only be explained as 'absolute nothingness'. It shook Dream to his core, he curses himself for not having any self-control and ruining the moment. 

In reality, George is a little ticked off, he hates it when people call Jubilee 'blood fountain', only letting it occasionally slide when it came to Niki as she was his soft spot.

"Jubilee Park." George corrects with no emotion displaying at all.

It took Dream's worried look to snap him out of his momentary lapse as he finally starts to emote, presenting a sweet look of wonder instead of the spine-chilling devoid one.

"It's a beautiful park and it was named for a reason, Jubilee, a celebration. It has a beautiful fountain that's intricately sculpted and just because people decide to throw themselves off the ledge, others thought it right to rename it."

The older spat out the string of words with his same passion and speed he always has, this time instead of an enticing Dream, it was slightly scaring him. George tries to redeem his trust, tries to haul himself out of the grave he dug.

"I jus-I - I love the view." George hopes the stutter will make him seem vulnerable.

It does.

"-I do too!" Dream immediately replies in haste.

The awkward tension could be cut with a knife; afraid that he upset George, Dream let go of his relentless thoughts immediately. He'd always do this, be so happy one moment until his mind decides to play tricks on him. 

String him along like a marionette, only on occasion does he feel like that. Thankfully, it didn't ruin the night, the smaller brushes it off like it was nothing. Dream didn't notice.

He simply went back to his tune, this time a different assortment, humming unknown lyrics accompanied by his unknown tune. The taller tries to follow, tries and fails, a few snickers slip into the comfortable silence. They went back and forth like a pendulum, George having to drag his words out to catch Dream's late ones.

"You sing." 404 squeaks, dropping the crutches he been holding the taller upon.

"I don't know any lyrics."

"Any song-"

"I don't know any!" Dream pleads.

"Any words, make them up."

_Any words_ , any? Dream searches his memories. _'Anything please he's waiting, any words!'_ he racks his brain. George continues, the notes of the grand piano flowing of off each other effortlessly, waiting.

_"The night is come, but not too soon."_

Dream sings to the beat of the music, surprisingly in tune. Attempting to match the long lost words to the rhythm.

_"And sinking silently, all silently, the little moon."_

_"Drops down behind the sky."_

The words, the music, the voice. It fills George to the brim. _'God'_ George sighs in his head behind the veil of his closed lips, _'who are you?'._ It had been hours since he thought of his tree; this man, this random stranger who loves stars, who apologises when provoked. 

Who laughs so uniquely and listens so tentatively had made him brilliantly forget his troubles for so long; longer than any drug or alcohol would. He makes him angry, he makes him guilty, sad and happy, all at the same time.

Dawn had broke, they spilt their thoughts and laughter filling the festering cracks within each other. Every now and then, pulling back the curtain, revealing information that someone who doesn't know your real name probably shouldn't know. But they do know. Dream let himself sink, for once.

_There is no light in earth or heaven_

_But the cold light of stars;_

The poisonous, lux liquid bottoms out of their glasses, they make their way out of the pristine bar and back out on to the winding paths and Dream makes sure to memorise it.

George grasps at any straws as they reach the familiar abused cobble pathway of Jubilee.

_Do you live near here? I do too. Do you have a phone? You should get a new one. Why do you like stars? I can tell you more, I can find out more. Let me find out more, let me have more._

He could feel his heart flutter purposefully, not a show he had put on to lure someone in, but intentionally. They stood parallel, each not wanting to be the first one to say their goodbyes, the first one to ask for _more._

Dream's golden locks curl above his eyebrows, bending to the emerging daylight as the sun creeps up, vexing both of them. His skin radiates the warmth, he's hot to the touch but he doesn't mind melting cause in this heat, he can see the contrast in the brit's pale skin in the colourful palette of the sky. Reds, oranges, yellows and sprinkles of pink for good measure other than the ones that cultivate on the smaller's ears.

_And the first watch of night is given_

_To the red planet Mars._

"Whaaaat's yooooour naaaame?"

404 pleads, seeping into the loving stares and uninterrupted thoughts. Dream only smiles, it's like he knows that's the other's pressure point, that fucking smile.

"Our paths will cross again - I hope." Dream justifies.

George just repeats the words back to him, he _would_ press deeper, he could. He could easily make the other slip under peer pressure and give him some sort of means of contact so that they could see each other again, but he won't. 

As if he's in another plane of existence, everything blurs. George feels the warmth around his body disappear, catches himself smiling last goodbyes and even waving instinctively. He wasn't in control anymore so when the other walked away, he was left standing alone in the middle of Jubilee, breathlessly as the sun paints the stars all over the autumn sky.

George just watched as his body moved without him, making the same route he's taken over a million times to his cosy apartment. He just watched as the cold water stung his cuts, and suds washed the other man's ghosting touch down the drain. 

He ate and slept and thought and thought; he dreamt and woke and dreamt again. He felt, tasted something so good, nothing felt the same, nothing could compare. Something new in so long. _I need to find him._

A shell of his old self as the days roll by, George tries to pass the time between intense internet searches and thinking sessions with visits to Jubilee or extra shifts at work. Surprisingly, catching up with old friends that could aid him in his expedition. 

_'Nick'_ George screams to no-one in particular, _'he could help'_. Nick, otherwise known as 'sapnap' a childhood nickname, was George's right-hand man since birth. They grew up in the same town; always managing to move to houses just opposite to each other. 

Always ending up in complicated situations that they both pathologically lied their way out of, partners in crime. George never felt the need to change to apply to Nick, he never found a reason to anyway. It's not like Nick could tell if he was lying though. 

Wilbur on the other hand, he's pretty 'touchy-feely' as George would put it, they had a minor middle school 'experimentation' type fling and everything went downhill from that point forward. In an attempt to mend burnt bridges, he gave advice to Will about his unrequited crush for an unnamed woman. 

He was adamant on not telling him or Nick her name, just the fact that she was a woman, and she was his friend. It didn't end well and George doesn't waste his time feeling guilty about it. He did waste his time on a stranger though which he knew was kind of hypocritic.

George finally shifts from his bed he's been fixed on for the past week to reach for his phone and open his messages, excited to see that Nick was online.

**Gogy:** Sapnap, I beseech you

**Snapmap:** Wat do u want?

**Gogy:** I need to find someone

**Snapmap:** Name?

**Gogy:** Didn't get it

**Snapmap:** Bruh

**Gogy:** I don't want to know his name

**Snapmap:** His? :0

Does gogy have a possible suiter?

**Gogy:** Jail

**Snapmap:** Y no want name?

**Gogy:** Cuz

**Snapmap:** Is that some weird rp shit?

**Gogy:** JAIL

Just help me pwease ;(

**Snapmap:** Do u hav a pic of him at least?

_'Do I?'_ George pesters his memories, he took his phone out many times, opened the camera app many times as well but just to show pictures of his cat back at home. Promptly, he exists out of messages to scroll through his photos, he took many pictures of the plaza as the scenery was decadent. He took a few pics of clothes at Melanie's to come back for later. 

_'Oh My God'_ his thoughts are almost audible at this point as he remembers he took a photo of him and Dream in their designer outfits. Although he didn't know he was taken a picture of, George praises himself and the intelligence of his past self. 

He ogles the screen, there he stood at the side of the picture in his blue skirt and white top, one hand on his hip and the other holding his phone up to block his face from view. There Dream stood, twirling the chain on his jeans with his finger, leaning against the wall and staring at George with the other hand covering his cheeks. Like before, he didn't waste any time.

**Gogy:** [photo dilevered]

**Snapmap:** Stfu

**Gogy:** Wot

**Snapmap:** Ik him

**Gogy:** Don't tell me his name

**Snapmap:** I won't jeez chill, I just know him

**Gogy:** Do you hav his disc, or insta, his number?

**Snapmap:** No, we're not close he's just a friend of a friend, Karl knows him tho

**Gogy:** Karls not gonna do anything for meeee D:

**Snapmap:** No one will cuz ur a dick, he might be at Karls party

**Gogy:** Wat

**Snapmap:** The one Jimmys throwin for his bday

**Gogy:** Ew the one in the club, I don wanna go

**Snapmap:** Lover man might b there so u gotta

**Gogy:** Fine ill be there, r u goin?

**Snapmap:** ofkorse

George slaps the phone on his chest, how likely is it that this not so mystery man was a friend of a friend? This not so stranger might come to a club filled with sweaty bodies and desperate hands, it doesn't seem like his scene either; clubs especially revolts George, he only ever goes there to get a fix of some sort. Although, in a weeks time he'll go there and stay there for more than just five minutes, waiting for his fix of Dream.

_Is it the tender star of love?_

_The star of love and dreams?_

_O no! from that blue tent above,_

_A hero's armor gleams ..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem credit: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 'The Light of Stars'.


	6. Pagan Ritual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Domestic Bliss - Glass Animals
> 
> TW/CW: Groping, alcohol abuse, drug abuse/drugging, light lime ig (not really but ok).
> 
> This is a long one, for me at least. WC 2654.
> 
> [George's POV 1st person]

White, white is all I can see. Amidst the painstaking brightness and ripping pain at my temples, white is all I can see. _'What the fuck happened?'_. I try to focus on regaining my vision, fluttering my lids until the dull colours come back to life. 

Well, at least I'm not naked, that's a plus. 

_'Jesus, how much did I drink?'_ ; I can only assume it was a considerable amount of alcohol because it takes a good few minutes for me to register where I am, actually, more question where I am. Not my house, definitely not; the eerie garage was freakishly clean. 

A yellow hue emanates from the hanging fairy lights leading to the ajar door and carpeted footstep. Diverting my attention from my gnawing headache and spurts of pain through my limbs, I gather all my strength to tear my useless body off of the gelid cement and past a pathetic excuse of a car. 

It takes ages for me to reach the inside of the house, like a toddler, I grab at the walls and sticky surfaces for balance. Apparently, the measly movement was enough to send my body over the edge, rushing to find the nearest toilet to empty my guts. 

I've never let myself get this bad, _'well I have'_ I counter myself. At least in those select few times, I knew what I was doing and had some sort of resemblance to a plan; either poison myself to death or hang in the balance safely in my apartment, waiting out my hangover. 

Rooting myself on the cold bathroom tiles, I attempt to piece together my shattered memories. The party, _Karl's_ birthday party. I went to see Dream. _Dream_. My something new. I just wanted to quiet my curiosity, feel him again.

In the evening of the day before, I dolled myself up to the best of my ability. Makeup, stockings and even brushing my hair. I usually never do that, not even for special occasions because I don't love the feeling of makeup on my skin or itchy fishnets but I went with it, ' _it's a party after all!_ '. 

After a short quaint drive, I parked my car in the formation of gridlocks, eyes scanning the area like a radar for any familiar faces until I spotted the infamous ravenette.

"Nick!"

My baby squeal barely heard through the honking, loud chattering and distant thumps of music outside the nightclub. ' _Why did it have to be a god damn club?'_ As if he had telepathy, the broad-shouldered man gravitated to me through the array of eager bodies that filed into line. 

Finally catching each other's gaze and locking arms in an attempt to not be swept away by the waves of people.

"How does Karl have this many friends?!" I resorted to shouting to make my question clear.

"They're mostly Jimmy's friends, I know Alex was going to invite a couple more but other than that, I think the rest are just Friday night clubbers." Nick clarified.

We stood in each other's tightening grasp for a second or two before venturing through the herd to find the door. Moonlight perfectly reflected the metallic handles, we both arrived through the crowd and at the door of the club struggling for air. 

Nick flashed his invite on his phone to the ominous bouncer that looked like he could crush me with his pinky finger, immediately gaining access and waltzing in. Sudden sonorous music and screams enveloped the scenery before fading out a little again once the door closed in my face. I also presented my invite, being kindly met with a hand on my arm and a question to see my ID. 

I'm used to it, I do look fairly young for my age and I always have to confirm my ID in many situations. However, I was promptly let in after the bouncer had inspected me fully from head to toe. Pushing the door to wiggle my figure in, I was met with a deafening noise that could make my ears bleed. 

I'm sometimes apathetic when it comes to people but that's only when I'm distracted; I'm not dumb, I know Karl enough to also know that this party would be his personal hell. You could practically taste the booze and miscellaneous wafts of drugs in the air. 

If it were any other night, I would've been all for it. Get in, get out, even though the party itself was distasteful at least they didn't falsely advertise and keep everything in the back like a shady mafia gang. But that night, I had to be clear-headed, although that would be quite a problem because the music was blaring so loud it made it hard to have any simple thoughts. 

My heartbeat vibrated in my chest along with the rhythm. Tunes of desperation rung through my ears; rejected advances, laughter and drunken jokes. It was a lost cause to find Nick in the packed crowd and I didn't want to help Karl out with the panic attack he's probably having right now. 

I waited and waited. 

Waited for blonde locks of hair to shine through the epileptic strobe lights. Waited for that tea kettle wheeze to be heard through the screams and sloshing of alcohol. It never came? _'God I want to be drunk right now'_ I thought. 

I came to this garbage dump just for the mere possibility a stranger would be here, why didn't he come? 'Well, I _did_ think it wasn't his scene'. 

What makes me think he'd want to see me if he actually enjoyed my presence, wouldn't he have given me his number? His name at least? It's not like I didn't ask. I just thought for the sake of poetry he decided against it, but he seemed _so_ _genuine_. 

I need booze. 

That was enough thinking for the night, he didn't come, that's fine. 

I have to get something out of this night though. I carried my tense body to the illuminating dance floor, trying to loosen up a little and stumbling over several pairs of feet. Mimicking the movements of the other people pressed up against me the best I can, I jumped along with the music. 

Effectively losing myself in my actions, I didn't even realize when one person came a little closer _nor did I care._ It first started as innocent brushes on my slender shoulders, but the thick hands made their way to my hips and I let them, for the moment at least. 

They rubbed up on my sides and under my black shirt and I _just_ let them. I can fend for myself, I'm a grown adult but I just didn't care anymore. I let my imagination run wild and left my body to the wolves, fantasising about _different hands_ on my sensitive skin. 

They began to press up against me, delving into unwanted territory, squeezes of my skin and light kisses on my nape. Ok. I don't want this, It didn't take long for me to rip off the violating hands and spin around with a face of obvious disapproval; only to be met with the lust coated look of the man behind me. 

He was plump and grabby, definitely needy because he thought this was a proposition to stick his hands up my thighs and underneath my skirt. I yelped in shock, visibly disgusted as I snatched his hands off my a--, making sure to dig my nails deeply into his coarse skin. He whined in pain and confusion.

"GET OFF OF ME!" I shouted whilst pushing his unbearable weight off of my body.

Thankfully, some people caught wind of my loud scream and body blocked the touchy man from following me. _I'm too sober for this_. So I decided to fix that, one drink after the other, I unknowingly lost count of how many I downed sitting at the barstools of the crowded bar. 

Drowning the lump in my throat from any attention, I tried to gloss over the abominable encounter I had.

"Sorry, I thought you wanted it." A sly voice interrupted my lonely drinking.

It was him. Can't he take a hint? He smirked, placing his full drink on to the counter and standing next to me. He had brown stubble on his pinched chin, a military-looking cut and yellowy skin with dark blue eyes. I couldn't make out any other features because of the flashing lights but I recognised it as him. 

I dead-panned, slamming down my unfinished drink and hopping off the seat, starting to scuttle away. He surprisingly waited a couple of seconds before inevitably grabbing my wrist and yanking me back.

"At least finish your drink." He chuckled.

I bore my eyes into his, shooting daggers as I picked up my drink and chugged the now oddly tasting liquid.

"Don't look at me. Don't talk to me. Don't touch me. It's a no, alright?" I bellowed, shoving the empty drink into his chest which he giggled while lifting.

"We'll see~ about that~ Angel." He cooed.

That was enough for me. I stomped through the oblivious pack of people, seemingly parting like the red sea once they see the look on my face. Pure anger.

That is until I face planted straight into yet another stranger's chest. I squeezed the bridge of my nose in pain and looked up to meet the one face I wanted to see.

"Dream?"

He looked equally shocked as he squinted his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing anything.

"404?" He yelled through the blaring speakers whilst taking hold of my shoulders.

Dream seemed to be lost in my eyes, not believing the sight before him. He pulled me into a tight embrace which I definitely wasn't expecting. I knew I didn't know this man but I couldn't help but melt into the touch. His broad shoulders made me feel small as he adorably placed his chin on my head, nuzzling my hair.

"I didn't think you'd come" His soft voice was like honey, it soothed all of my worries and mellowed my previous rage. I wanted to never let go.

-

And that's where it gets hazy, I can't remember anything after that just blurry bits and bobs. I know we talked, I'm pretty sure we even danced. I remember his hands on my waist, I remember his beautiful smile and sweet giggles. 

We reminisced about missing each other...I felt him cupping my cheeks with his hands. Felt his hot breath ghosting my lips...then blank. 

I handle my liquor well, there's no way I got so drunk that I blacked out. No matter how fucked up I got, I've always been able to recall the havoc I've caused and be home safe. I only recall, feeling incredibly drowsy in his arms, like something just kicked in my system. 

I didn't take any drugs but I clearly smell like I did. Fisting my hand around my shirt to bring it up to my nose, still sitting on the hard bathroom floor in an unknown house. 

Why do I have to remember _that guy_ and not Dream? 

That guy. 

My heart drops to my stomach remembering the horrible encounter I had. 

The drink? 

Tears prick my eyes as I hold up my own flush face, a finger between my teeth, pressing hard so as to not cause any sound. Would Dream have left me? Take his gaze off of me for a split second, enough time to be led out with someone else and home with the stranger. 

Not intentionally. Unknowingly? Maybe. 

My stomach did flip-flops and my heart went numb, only feeling the waterfalls run down my cheeks. Accumulating all my strength, I pick myself off the floor, ready to bolt through the bathroom door and book it out of the house until I could hear a faint knocking on the door.

"Hey, are you alright? It's me, you're at my house if you're confused. Sorry, you passed out in my garage, I-"

"Karl?" I squeak.

Immediately opening the door causes the fluffy-haired male to stumble from the lack of stability. I scoop him up in a tight hug of relief and he chuckled from the affection, reciprocating it swiftly. 

I bury my face deep into his knit sweater and sniffle a few tears whilst he rubs soothing circles on my back. I wasn't even that close with him, anyone matter of fact but we were at one time, I also managed to ruin that relationship.

"I thought some random person took me home...I thought-"

"I do think someone spiked your drink, I'm sorry. You were completely out of it and... _D-Dream_? He asked me to take you home."

I pull back from the hug, wiping the tears off my crimson face. I'm a mess, my hair sprung out in all directions and smelling like absolute crap. 

Karl, on the other hand, wore a block print sweater, now wet at the shoulder from me, and sweats. His hair was combed back and he sported a look of worry and sympathy.

"He told me to call him _Dream_ , made sure of it. Again, I'm sorry George, it was my party. I should've-"

"It's not your fault." I halt him from going any further into his downward spiral.

He gave me a soft smile and let go.

"There are some clean clothes in the bathroom, why don't you go take a shower while I make breakfast and we can talk?"

"Okay." I nod shyly, hopefully, he understands how much this means to me.

We go our own ways, I hop into the shower and dried myself off shortly. Draping what I assume is Karl's clothes over my body. I recollect my sanity whilst staring at myself through the mirror and brush my teeth with a new toothbrush Karl lent me. 

Making my way downstairs trying to familiarise myself with Karl's new house, _'that's why I didn't recognise it. I didn't even know he moved.'_ It was much bigger and incredibly well kept, it had modern style; big windows and tall ceilings but still cosy because of the white carpet that wrapped every nook and cranny of the floor. 

The aroma of pancakes buys my attention when I saunter into the kitchen only to be met with a surprising find. Nick occupied a barstool next to the kitchen island where Karl was standing working away. 

Well, I wasn't expecting that.

"Nick?"

"Oh heyyy, I'm so sorry about last night man. I never should've left you-"

His voice dripped of concern, he was wearing a set of pyjamas and casually leaning his forearms on the counter.

"It's alright sappy, what are you doing here?"

Nick and Karl simultaneously look at each other than quickly back as if they had an entire conversation in a split second in their minds.

"Got...w-wasted too, he had to drag my ass here." He points at Karls who nods back in agreement.

Ok well he's obviously lying but there's probably a reason, I'm too tired to pester him about it. I take my respective seat next to him when I notice a slip of paper with a phone number scrawled on it.

"Oh yea, _Dream~_ gave that to me for you. Call him cause I'm pretty sure he'll be worried about you." Karl clarifies while placing the three plates of freshly made pancakes and syrup on the counter and digging into his own serving, Nick quickly inhaled his portion.

"OooOoh~ LOveR~ BOy." Nick teases, bumping into my shoulder playfully.

I just stare at the digits. _'He's worried about me?'._ I waste no time in entering the sacred code into my contacts and sending him a message.

**You:** Hi

Karl gave me your number.

I sit back and fulfil my ravenous hunger with a bite of the sweet food, humming in approval, awaiting a reply which came sooner than expected.

**Dream:** Hey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't update often cause I have school, apologies. Thank you for the kudos, they make me really happy.


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